


thats what you get for watching jennifers body before bed i guess

by feltstrips



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Biting, Blood, Body Horror, Dry Humping, Emetophilia, Gore, M/M, Nighmares, One Sided Attraction, Sibling Incest, also the weird tense is intentional its supposed to switch around a little, ambiguous bus nightmare rape: the fanfiction, emetophobia warning, repost, this is already kinda posted but now i cant delete the other copy so just ignore it, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 09:24:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12909033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feltstrips/pseuds/feltstrips
Summary: Your name is SLIGHTLY HARD TO PIN DOWN BUT YOU KNOW YOU'RE SOMEBODY and you're apparently on a bus with an indistinct mystery figure and one helluva fucked up brain.





	thats what you get for watching jennifers body before bed i guess

**Author's Note:**

> ive posted this before but i orphaned it out of shame lmao. but now im bored so here it is again only heavily edited and hopefully improved

Your name is DAVE, preferably "D" STRIDER and you just woke up feeling like a cheap construction paper cutout. Y'know, the kind that artsy folks on Pinterest make for their favorite episode of Sherlock.

Only a lot more crumpled, achy, and woefully sentient.

The first thing you do as you are rudely made aware of your apparently craft-supply-esque consciousness is swear, groan, and swear some more. The second is have a delightful realization that you're covered in blood. You glance down at it hazily, your face scrunching in confusion. Your nose crackles, and a few red flakes sprinkle from it to land in the sticky splatters already painting the front of your tissue-thin dress shirt. The contrast between the albeit creased but still blindingly white fabric and the gross blood snail-trails is giving you vertigo.

Okay. So. Nosebleed.

Jot that one down on the mental notepad reserved for painful and distressing situations.

You try and move from your slumped ragdoll posture on-- on whatever you were sitting in, your brain wasn't quite up to processing that yet-- and instantly regret it. Swirling phantom-pain-like aches, specifically centralized around your chest and stomach, mercilessly attack you as soon as you move your cutout limbs. You yelp, hissing at the hundreds of dull-sharp-dull-sharp pains creaking through you. Looks like going back down and admitting defeat was the best option right now, 'cause with the sudden onslaught came a fresh wave of dizziness and detaced, floating-brain-style sensibilities.

You hit the deck, and suddenly your heart was racing. You somehow felt you didn't have a heart. You were a woozy conglomeration of people you didn't know.You just wanted to sleep.

_Don't think about it don't think about it all you need is a second of oblivion_

You just wanted to slee-- Fuck. Snap out of it.

You tried. You really, truly tried, forcing your rebelling eyelids open with the heel of your bloody hand only to have them slide shut again. The phantom pains tightened vengefully knarled fingers into your flesh in response, making random individual muscles scream. You screamed. Well, scream was better categorized as a wet, dull groan that slid its way out of your mouth as the back of your head flopped back to meet metal again. Thunk. 

Your-- Your name is D--

STRIDER. No. No. No. Nope. Wrong.

Right?

Just concentrate--

Thoughts slipping away from your grasp like especially wet water, all you did was pant and try to feel out who you were. It was forgotten, your identity as ambiguous and confusing as your entire situation.

Through the haze, you barely noticed the silhouette (Was that a silhouette? Could you just not make it out beside a faint impression? Were colors even real?) of a figure settle into the-- the _seat_ across from you. It was a seat.

Aye aye, captain, basic comprehension skills are operating at 0.5%.

In fact, with the seat epiphany, the swimming haze seemed to drop away, washing the phantom pains with it. You became slightly more aware of the blood drying down your front, the uncomfortable plastic built in chair you were dumped in.

And your surroundings.

Your name is SLIGHTLY HARD TO PIN DOWN BUT YOU KNOW YOU'RE SOMEBODY and you're apparently on a bus with a still indistinct mystery figure and one hell of a fucked up mindscape.

You try sitting up again-- please no pain please no pain hey no pain-- and scrub a hand down your face, cringing at the blood and snot flaking off onto your skin. You look up, at this blurry figure, then around at the bus.

It's ordinary. Like something you'd find it downtown LA during the rush hour, dutifully carrying old ladies and single moms and teenagers around town in its bad-color-scheme-encrusted innards.

Speaking of innards.

You should have known something was up. The painless movement was too good to be true. You felt your stomach constrict out of literally fucking nowhere and you heaved all over your lap and the floor with a grotesque noise, the flood of vomit coating chartreuse confetti flooring instantly.

You dry heaved a couple times, not wanted to open your eyes and see the mess you just made. 

You did anyway, those peepers sure picking a good time to comply with orders, and----

What the fuck.

 _What the fuck_.

It was black.

You just barfed-- you could have just barfed tar, for all appearances. 

You found yourself heaving again with your head between your legs, eyes wide open and panicked and watching liquid darkness splash out of your shaking mouth. You whined, not even going for cohesive words.

Right on cue, the waterscreen of disassociation was back, swirling together with the puddle of nothing-smelling void coating the shitty linoleum and your formerly nice pants. You shuddered, going boneless between your legs, hands dragging in the nightmare sick. It hurt so bad everything and nothing hurt who who who who--

You were crying now, sobs shaking your frame, and through your tears and pain and general horribleness, you heard a cool voice from across the aisle. The...figure, you guess, even though that's a stupid way to refer to someone.

"Are you done yet?"

A slurred _fuck you_ dripped to the floor with the tasteless vomit on reflex. The voice--- you knew that voice. You know that voice. Disembodied emotions flickered--  
homegoodsafehomehelpplease-- furthering your absolutely hodgepodge state.

"Now you're just being cheeky, jackass."

Fucking _cheeky_? Who even says that besides self-absorbed principals with sticks up their asses and weird out-of-date supervillains? The voice-- the figure-- so many fucking emotions what why--

"Whhhh-h-. What'ss happ-happening to me--" You managed to get out, the phrase sounding much more dribbly and desperate that you intended. At least you knew you could talk.

The voice seemed to like your whining, darkening to a purr that sent more shivers of foreboding down your spine than anything else.

"It’s not important." God. No no no no he wasn't supposed to sound like that he wasn't supposed to say that.

He. Who is he. _Fuck._

You squeezed your eyes shut again, more tears slipping out to run down your face.

The bus shifted slightly as the figure stood up. When you opened your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time in an endless cycle, a pair of horrendous red-and-blue extra high tops stepped into the puddle of black barf and your blurry line of vision.

Wait. You knew those shitty shoes.

No.

No no o o ononono.

It's not him it can't be him.

Please God no.

Hands slide under your armpits, lifting you from your pose and none-too-gently pushing you into a seated position with your back pressed up against the bus--- the bus window wall. Thing. What was that called.

You didn't want to open your eyes again. Not to see this. Even through the waterscreen was pouring over you from the movement, you had enough sense to keep them fucking shut keep them fucking shut keep them

The purring drawl of a voice was back, accompanied by a slim finger tilting up your black-and-red smeared jaw, forcing your head up slightly. It felt like the figure was straddling you, long legs falling to either side of your sick-coated thighs. (When did that happen?) He didn't seem to mind the tar-vomit-whatever getting all over him. The pain in your abdomen was definitely worse with him there, but your wet protests were ignored.

"Come on, open your eyes. Let me see your pretty reds without those shitty fucking shades."

You jerked your jaw away, stubbornly refusing with a furrowed brow. Keep them closed keep them closed keep them closed--

" _Look at me_."

He slapped you.

A brutally hard backhand right across the cheek, snapping your head to the side and making you wheeze. The nosebleed started back up in a near torrent, adding to the slurry of blood and vomit already coating you. Your eyes flew open out of shock and he was grabbing your face, fingers digging into your aching cheek, mimicking the phantom pains riddled all over you.

He forced your head to look at him.

_God no no no no no._

It was Dirk, as you'd pretty much figured out at this point. Your baby brother.

You didn't know _why_ or _how_ or _what the fuck was happening to you_.

But you did know that your heart did a kind of running leap off a bridge when you saw his familiar face leaning over you. For a second you forgot you were fucked through the nine gates of hell and covered in pitch and bleeding because it was _Dirk_ and Dirk meant everything was gonna be okay.

Then you were whiplashed back to reality like a toddler getting flung in a seatbelt when he pressed his body along yours with a sick little sigh.

No no.

Noonononono.

You would be lying if you said you hadn't fantasized about Dirk's lean frame pressing against you in a similar matter on many occasions, but never like this. This was-- this was twisted, this was insane. He couldn't-- not now.

"Is it really that much of an ordeal to listen to me?" He moves his knee, jamming it into your aching stomach and you heave again, a pitiful gush of black all to show for the deep pain searing through you. You gurgled, wide eyes pleading up at him but he just grinned. You hadn't seen him smile that wide since he was four. Never with such pure malice behind it.

You still loved to see it, heart doing its little suicide trick again.

You didn't know what was wrong with you, your fucking kid was in your lap and making you barf on yourself in the most painful way possible but all you could manage to feel emotions-wise was bewildered hurt, shame, and a rush of devotion that hit you like a truck.

The waterscreen was gone for now, and you could count every freckle and little scar on Dirk's face as he shoved his mouth onto your gross goopy one, the gut-churning semblance of a kiss sending you reeling. His tongue was down your throat and even through the tar, you could taste him. It was everything you'd ever wanted but nothing you'd ever ask for at all stop stop stop stop

He pulled back for air after a minute of playing with your slack mouth, diluted pitch running down his chin and caked in the corners of his mouth. He was panting slightly, black-stained teeth peeking out from parted lips, and it reminded you painfully of the time he'd downed a bottle of food coloring for the hell of it when he was eleven. The memory squeezed a few more tears out of you and you pawed at the hips pressing into yours, a weak noise escaping you.

"Gghh-- stop, please, Dir--" you voice cracked mid-attempt and he somehow seemed to get the opposite impression of what you said, his hands moving from your shoulders to your knees and forcing them apart. You jerked away but there was nowhere to go, just the cold metal behind you, and you helplessly let Dirk slot himself in-between your legs and lazily rut against your pelvis a few times.

The friction forced a low whine out of your raw throat, addled state tearing away your filter and throwing it in a blender. He laughed, so, so different from how he usually sounded, now mocking and grating on your eardrums when there should have been breathless chuckles.

"Fucken' slut. Look at you. You're disgusting." He purred, tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth and a particularly hard grind, his eyes half-lidded. You wanted to vomit again just from the that.

Never had he said shit like this, done shit like this. You hated it. You hated _yourself._

Letting your head fall to the side, away from his mouth and rocking hips and gorgeous, cruel face, you tried to focus on a random bit of bus detail. Maybe if you were distracted you could pretend none of this was real.

_Don't think about it don't think about it all you need is a second of oblivion._

Then Dirk was sinking his teeth deep into your neck-- hard, it hurt so bad fuck fuck no no-- and running his tongue over the oozing bitemark, groaning into your skin. Jesus, he was grinding on you like he was fucking you, like his dick was in your ass or maybe the other way around, all hard and fast and generally pretty awful.

Another wheeze escaped you as he pressed down and gyrated, your half-hard cock pressing painfully against his fully stiff one for a solid minute of twisting, harsh pressure.

If you came from this you might cry even harder than you already had.

"Dirk, please-- _nnn_ \-- stop. Stop! _Please_."

"Shut up. Don't try to act like you _don't_ want me." You whined in response, your arm moving to cover your gross face almost unconsciously. As much as you absolutely hated it, hated this, hated yourself for letting this happen, the longer it went on the more present and conscious you felt.

Just another cruel twist of fate, you suppose. The waterscreen just had to leave when you were getting dry humped by your baby brother.

Loathing pulsed through you with the sickening pleasure. Not loathing for Dirk-- you loved him, adored him, could never bring yourself to even dislike him, even now-- but loathing for yourself. For this stupid shitty bus and the noises you were making and the way you could feel various bodily fluids still soaking through your clothes.

Dirk ripped your arm away from your face and kissed you when he came. If it wasn't for your teeth clicking together and the way he growled under his breath, you could almost convince yourself that it was kinda sweet-- in a very deluded way.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

You wake up, crying, with a wet spot in your boxers and a merciful lack of vomit. You try to breathe, try to calm the rioting storm of self-hatred in your chest with little to no avail.

"Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ." You gasp, a shaky laugh slipping out despite how despicable you feel.

A nightmare. Wow, you felt like a dumbass. Guess that explained the bus?

Eventually, you stumble your way to Dirk's room and watch him sleep on some parental instinct. God knows you just had a ton of those, not.

You just had the most graphic, disturbing, and _real_ nightmare of your life, and instead of drinking your woes away as was expected you wanted to help him somehow. It was like you'd traumatized _Dirk_ in some way by being assulted by him in your dreams.

You're still there the next morning, slumped snoring against the doorway, and Dirk steps over you with a small laugh on his way to the kitchen for cereal.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact the first chapter of im wide awake its morning was intended to be chapter two for this mess. im glad i changed my mind honestly.


End file.
